I Would Wait A Lifetime
by Fabray
Summary: The Finn/Puck/Rachel/Santana fiasco in a nutshell - or two.
1. Chapter 1

a/n: I'm kind of nervous for this because it's a lot longer than I intended for it to be, but it's something I've been working on for awhile. It's a two-shot (junior year and senior year) so this is only the beginning. This story takes place after the whole Finn/Puck/Rachel/Santana fiasco. Title and lyrics are from "Center of Attention" by Jackson Waters. I hope you like it!

**... ... ...**

_You think that you're the sun_

_The whole world revolves around you__  
_

_The center of attention__  
_

_And everything is drawn to you_

_But I'll take my time if you want to_

_And I'll give you whatever you need_

_And I'll wait a lifetime to give it to you_

_Give it to you_

**... ... ...**_  
_

Rachel Berry can't ever bring herself to swear, not even in her head. _But it's just so fu - so inconveniently wrong that you could ever bring yourself to do something like this_, she reminds herself as she tightens her posture and fixates her glance on the awkward pamphlets that rest just behind Miss Pillsbury's head.

"So," Miss Pillsbury clears her throat and folds her hands, resting them on top of a stack of books. "How were your holidays?"

"I'm Jewish," Rachel answers, surprisingly quiet. "You and I are both completely aware on your changing of the subject here, Miss Pillsbury. However, as a therapist, I'm sure you've encountered a case much like mine before."

"Not a therapist," Miss Pillsbury chimes in, turning Rachel's semi-grin into an expressionless nothing. "Oh, Rachel, it isn't so much me not wanting to help you as it is –"

"Having me expelled? Transferred? Taking Finn's side in all of this and commending his public breakups – yes, break-ups meaning more than once – from myself?" She asks frantically, leaning her body upward in her chair, which freaks Miss Pillsbury out a bit.

"It's difficult," Miss Pillsbury speaks lowly, reaching her hand for Rachel's forearm which rests heavily on top of her desk. "You've always been on top of the game – why inflict something harmful on yourself?"

"Promise you won't speak of it," Rachel demands worriedly.

"You have my word," Miss Pillsbury shoots her palm up, almost as if she's making an oath - it's official in Rachel's book so she boosts up from her chair in confidence, flattening out the bottom of her patterned skirt before scheduling her next guidance appointment.

"Miss Pillsbury?" She turns around just before she closes the door and heads toward the vacant hallway. "Thank you. It's relieving to know there's one reliable person in this building."

"Anytime," she nods and shuts her eyelids for a moment before she watches Rachel look back at her nervously before strolling down the hall.

**... ... ...**

She walks into rehearsal six minutes late but no one seems to notice so she bows her head and takes a seat in the front row, the seat farthest from Finn because he's the last person she wants to be near right now.

"Rachel," Puck sits behind her and she feels his tap on her shoulder so she turns her head in surprise. "Where've you been?"

"I'm shocked you care an ounce, but I was with Miss Pillsbury," she responds with a whisper, jerking her head once to check which direction Finn is looking in – it's not toward her.

"Still hung up on him, huh?" He asks her. "He dumped you, crazy – he's obviously moved on."

"But I haven't," she hisses. "If it weren't for your suggestion for revenge, we wouldn't _be_ in this mess."

"Rachel? Puck?" They're interrupted by Mr. Schuester, who nods for Finn to join him in the center of the room. "Finn's about to fill his assignment for the week, it's only fair you're quiet."

"He's always been Schuester's bitch," he doesn't mean to blurt it out, but he does, and the whole entire room fills with a flood of giggles and opened jaws.

"I'm not –" Finn's still standing in the front of the room, his hands fidgeting in the pockets of his jeans as his eyes fall to the floor.

"Save it, Hudson," Puck answers. "_You_ dumped her, dude, yet, you're still up there singing whiney little songs about never getting your love back. Is it just me or is there something wrong there?" He looks to the rest of the group as they stay silent.

"Noah, just – just leave it alone," Rachel chimes in.

"No, Rachel," Finn angrily joins in, his hands clenching to fists at his sides as he stands nervously, still in the center of the room. "Let him finish. He seems to have like, one-thousand opinions today."

"You guys are gonna have to take this outside if it doesn't stop," Mr. Schuester adds, looking once to the crowd of students who sit still in front of him. "Puck, do you really think it was necessary to start with Finn?"

"Here we go again!" Puck lifts his hands up over his head and stands up from his chair. "I'm not gonna stick around and listen to him sing some prissy ass song about her." He nods his head over to where Rachel sits and she squirms in her chair nervously.

"Puck…" Mr. Schuester chimes in once more, a tone of disappointment behind his voice as he looks onto a discouraged Finn, still front and center of the room.

"We _know_ how they work, Mr. Schue," he sits back in his chair and folds his hands, placing them in his lap. "They breakup, they sing a few songs, they get back together. They breakup, they sing a few songs, they –"

"We get it," Finn snickers.

"Let me finish, dude," Puck demands, the burn of the glare Rachel throws at his eyelids. "It's not about which stupid song he sings, or how many times they kiss in here when they think we're not looking. I'm tired of him walking in here every day with that sorry ass frown. And Rachel, she's always depressed and shit, so that's no fun either."

"Am _not_!" Rachel exclaims before Santana shushes her from across the room.

"What I'm trying to say is, if you two end up getting back together, so be it," he gets an approving nod from Mercedes and Santana. "If you don't, well, don't drag your asses into this room with those stupid love songs and keep trying until you practically like, force yourselves to."

"I think that's enough for one day, Puck," Mr. Schuester scoffs.

"And you say you don't play favorites," Santana snickers toward Mr. Schuester who jerks his head back guiltily.

"S'okay, San," Puck assures her.

But it's not okay, because he still feels the burn of Rachel's glance – Rachel's clearly aggravated, fierce glance – tear at his eyelids and he knows he has to fix what he's done. Sure, she's probably always gonna blame him for her and Finn's breakup (_"You said he'd consider us even, Noah!"_) but she was part of the problem too, right? Even if she forever puts him to blame, he'll make it his goal to let her know he wasn't alone in all of it. He doesn't know how, but he will.

**... ... ...**

It's Friday night and Puck's just finished going down on Santana. He's sprawled out across the bed and she's sitting at the beanbag chair up against his wall, moaning about something or other.

"I'm hungry," she murmurs. "I'm restless, too. Let's get some people over here." She picks his phone up off of the floor and starts dialing, avoiding his repeated 'no's' and eye rolls.

Before he knows it, the entire glee club is at his door and he's so fucking tired – he's tired of them and he's tired of Santana and her irresistible ways, too.

He nods when Quinn and Sam walk in hand-in-hand, because sure, they're all 'cool' with each other now and from what he thinks, Sam's kind of his bro, but when he sees him holding the one thing that was supposed to be his – the one thing he was so fucking sure he'd get but didn't – he can't help but cringe a bit inside.

The feeling goes away pretty quickly when Mike enters with a six-pack and an empty bottle. "Spin the bottle, bro?" He asks as he looks for Tina, who's strolling behind him, talking with Mercedes.

"Better," Puck tells him. "Seven minutes."

"In heaven?" Mike asks.

"In these fierce ladies panties," Puck replies with a snicker.

So they sit across the hardwood floor of his living room, beers and all, and Rachel takes just about forever before she finally grips the bottle. She gulps before she spins and Santana curses at her to hurry the fuck up because really, she wants a fucking turn in the closet, too. (_"You just had to be first, Berry! Vaminos!")_

"Looks like you've landed on Hudson," Santana smirks as she pats Rachel's shoulder.

"We can't –" Finn hesitates, not leaving the ground even as Rachel stands right behind him, arms folded beneath her chest with coy eyes.

"But we can!" Rachel chimes in, her voice frisky.

"Get in there," Puck stands up and walks in between the two of them, pushing their bodies closer together. "Don't kill each other!" He yells as they walk away slowly, a noticeably awkward distance apart.

"They're probably gonna fuck," Santana tells him relentlessly.

He walks as if he's making way toward the closet, the hands in his pocket clenching into fists. Sure, he might be a little drunk (completely wasted) by now, but the idea of anyone getting it on in his house (besides him, of course) freaks him out just a little.

"Leave 'em," Sam hands his beer to Quinn and grips Puck's shoulder. "They're probably just talking."

_They better fucking be_, he tells himself as he sits down along with everyone else. Whatever they're talking about isn't important – it's all blurred and nothing makes sense to him – so he just looks down at his wrist and wishes he had a watch, because seven fucking minutes better not turn into an hour.

**... ... ...**

Rachel's never played seven minutes in heaven before and hell, she doesn't even know what it is until Puck explains the rules to a confused Brittany, who sits in the corner just by the coffee table, burping and laughing in between every sip of beer.

She walks in slowly, moving a few coats out of the way as she and Finn make for the back of the closet. It smells like cheap air fresheners and dust – if dust has a smell – so she tells herself she's going to choke. "It – it smells bad," she giggles tipsily.

"Are you drunk?" He asks her, trying his hardest not to laugh too, because she's like, totally giggly and maybe, just maybe, she might talk to him without shooting a glare in his direction for once.

"Not a chance," she sits her butt to the floor and folds her legs, sighing before leaning her head back against the wall of the closet. "So – so what do we do for seven minutes?"

"We talk," he gulps. "Look, I know you're like, totally pissed off at me and if I were you, I'd kind of be pissed off at me too – I think."

"You think?" She furrows her brow, letting out another giddy laugh."I'm completely past it now, Finn. Like Noah stated, if it happens, it happens and if it doesn't –"

"So now you're taking _his_ advice?" He asks, almost offended, as he sits beside her in the corner of the closet.

"He's not too horrible," she says, fidgeting with a hand towel she's picked up from off of the floor. "Are – are we completely missing the point of this game?"

"I think we're supposed to like, kiss or something," he tells her.

"Yeah," she says after a few good minutes of pure silence.

So they do. It's completely awkward and she's fidgety and he's a complete mess, beads of sweat painted across his forehead and all because, yeah, they totally just ended things and from what they both know, you're _totally_ not supposed to kiss your ex.

"That was… nice," she tells him as she stands up and smoothes out her now-wrinkled skirt.

"Nice and awkward," he tells her as he stands up too.

She's pretty sure their seven minutes are up, and she's pretty sure that he's pretty sure their seven minutes are up too, so she turns the doorknob of the closet and a round of chants can be heard.

"They _so_ did it!" Santana screams over all of the noise.

Before they can walk out of the closet, Puck turns the handle and lets himself in. "That was like, ten minutes. The fuck were you two doing in here, making a baby?"

"I – we – we're done," Rachel, red in the face, exclaims before exiting the closet, Finn following behind.

"Totally," he nods.

"Good, because you two were hogging up the space. San and I want a round," he tells them in between sips.

"We are done, you know," Rachel, whispering, turns around to him once more before sitting down on the floor beside Mercedes, who's already racking up the thousands of questions she's got for her. "Completely done."

"You say that now," Finn replies, his hands in his pockets as he takes his place on the floor.

"I do," she nods in confidence and for once, actually feels a spark of confidence brush across her body because yeah, she's _completely_ done with Finn Hudson.

(For now.)

**... ... ...**

"You like her," Santana hisses at him as she sits on the closet floor, legs spread across one of his dad's old trunks no one's ever bothered to throw out.

"Say what, Lopez?" He lifts his head up from the box he's leaning it on, raising his beer with it and placing it just to his lips before chugging it.

Snickering, she lifts her beer too.

"I don't like Berry like that," he says. "Chick's crazy."

"I never said her name," Santana giggles, kicking her feet a little. "So why don't you fuck her? I mean, you've already hooked it up a few times, right?"

"It's not like that, San. I – I'm not just gonna use her for that and then kick her out on her ass. Sure, she's hot once you get past those cat sweaters and those fucking penny loafers – the same ones my Nana Connie wears – but," he sighs, "Doing that to her would make me like, Finn 2.0. No."

"So you care about her, too?" Santana, chuckling, sits up and drops her jaw. "Are you sure this is Puck? What'd they – what'd they do with the real Puck?"

"You're drunk, s'okay," he grabs her by the wrist and reaches for the doorknob, "You've got no fucking clue what you're saying."

"Shut the fuck up, Puckerman," she glares at him, still taking sips from the almost-empty bottle she holds. "All I'm saying is I've tried to make you like me for like, three years. She didn't even have to try – it just happened." She snaps her fingers and lets out a frisky laugh once more.

"You wanted me to like you?" He grins into his beer bottle. "Who would've known you had feelings?"

"Not you, asshole," she holds her hand out and he helps her hoist her body off of the closet floor.

Once the door's open, no one's chanting like they chanted for Finn and Rachel. They're just Puck and Santana, coming out of the closet where everyone's figured they did what they do best. He hates that, even though he'll never tell anyone. (_"It's just Puck and Santana, who cares?"_) He hates being so predictable all the time – go in the closet with the girl you've messed around with for over a year, come out of the closet the same every time. He wants to be different; be unexpected, but he's got no clue in hell how to be.

By the time they reach the living room, most everyone's gone home. Quinn and Sam are sprawled out on the couch, her head in his lap. Finn babbles about hockey to Mike as he looks on indifferently and Rachel's just…Rachel. She sits on the armchair furthest away from everyone, eyes closed, hands pressed to her cheek. When Puck and Santana enter, she jerks her head a touch so he sighs loud enough for Santana to hear.

"Go get 'em tiger," Santana winks as she presses her bottle to the bottle he holds, resting right by his hip. "Don't let her bite your balls off."

**... ... ...**

"I know you didn't like, land on me, but would you come in the closet with me anyway?" Puck just has to ask her as she opens her tired eyes long enough to take a look at him beside the armchair, Santana not too far behind.

Ignoring the glance she's thrown from Finn who still sits across the floor with Mike and two beers, she sits up just a little and clears her throat.

"Would she like to come too?" Rachel asks. He's pretty sure the sarcasm was intended and it scares him just a little bit. Call him a wuss, but sometimes, the chick actually scares him – and he's still not sure if it's in a good way or a bad way.

"I'll skip, Berry, but thanks for the offer," Santana replies.

"C'mon," he holds out his hand. "Let's go."

Yeah, so he's not a handholding kind of guy (sue him) but he doesn't mind holding her hand. Sure, at first it's a little weird because she curls her fingers into his and all he's trying to do is lead her to the closet, but after a second or two, it's actually pretty fucking cute – not to mention her hands are pretty soft too, but no way in hell he'll ever say that out loud, because even in his head it's kind of creepy.

"Puck?" He ignores the fact that it's probably the first time she's ever called him Puck – ever – and just tries to focus on the fact that her head is kind of on his shoulder by the time they reach the closet door.

"'Sup?"

"I need to lie down," she holds her head firmly with her free hand, the hand that's not holding onto his, as he opens the closet door.

"Sure thing, Berry," he nods.

Once they're in the closet, he apologizes because really, all she's got to lay on is his dad's old trunk and a few stacked towels he says are the closest thing to a pillow.

"It's fine, really," she tells him. "I'm just dizzy; I need to lie down."

So she does – she lies down and all he does is watch because, really, he can't just leave a kind-of, sort-of tipsy Rachel Berry on the floor of his closet, stacked towels and all.

She starts to sweat and he hears her fidget a little, "Noah, can – can you help?" She points to the sleeves of her sweater – the one with the cat on it that he really fucking hates but at the same time tells himself no one other than her could pull off – so he scoots his body over next to hers and places his fingers under the sleeve.

"Shit, Berry," he pulls back his body from hers in surprise, his chest pounding as he looks down to her arm. "What happened, your freaky cats scrape your –"

But he holds back from saying anymore, because he unrolls the rest of her sleeve up her arm for her and sees scar after scar, cut after cut. He can't look the rest of the time so he runs his thumbs over the marks and feels the deepness and the roughness and suddenly a million and one questions pop inside of his head but he looks over to her tiny, sleeping body and can't bother with it now. Someday he will, but not now.

**... ... ...**

"Hey," he doesn't even mind that Finn's opened the door to the closet – it's not like he was doing anything besides stacking a bunch of towels anyway.

"She fell asleep?" Finn asks with curious eyes, kneeling down to the ground. "I'll take her home if you need me to."

"No one's going home," Puck says. "We're all fucking shot, dude."

"So you want us to like, sleep in the closet?"

"No, you asshat," Puck shoots his head up. "I want us to like, sleep in the fucking living room until we're sober enough to function. Help me get Rachel up."

Before he lets Finn lift her (he's obviously bigger and Puck's obviously wasted) he's sure to roll down the sleeves of her sweater – twice.

**... ... ...**

It's still dark out and he wakes up before everyone. Santana's passed out across the floor, four beer bottles surrounding her body. Quinn and Sam take up the entire couch, their bodies meshed together under one giant blanket. Mike's sprawled across the coffee table with a beer bottle across his abs and for a second, Puck thinks he should move him, but he tells himself he'll keep him there because he's just got to get a picture of that later. Finn and Rachel aren't anywhere to be found, so Puck goes with his instincts and runs up the stairs, tripping on a beer cap on his way up. "Fucking animals," he curses under his breath, not quite knowing whether he means the animals that left the beer bottles all over his living room or the animals that are nowhere to be found. He goes with the second choice – easy.

He tiptoes into his room, turning the doorknob roughly. She's sprawled out across his beanbag chair and Finn's beside her on the floor, but they're covered in the same sheet – Puck's sheet.

"I mean it," he hears her whisper, running her hand across his cheek. "I'm sorry."

"The fuck are you apologizing for this time, Berry?" They both jump as Puck walks closer to them, an annoyed glance painted across his face. "He's the asshole that dumped you – twice."

"I – nothing," she responds.

"Good."

"I was just going," Finn hoists himself off of the floor, lifting the sheet off of his body and throwing it over hers. "I'll see you later, Rach. You too, Puck."

"Out, bro," Puck waves his hand, practically pushing Finn out of his bedroom until he hears a sigh come from Rachel.

"Still hung up on him, huh?" He turns his head to her, his eyes small and curious.

She nods her head sheepishly.

"Any way I could convince you to stop?" He asks seriously.

"Sing to me," she's clearly still tipsy, and it makes him laugh a bit, so he walks over to where she sits and places his hand over the spot – the cuts and the scrapes and the scars – and can't help but want to sing to her. He doesn't know what he'd sing or how he'd do it but maybe all she needs right now is a song – any song.

**... ... ...**

She leaves Miss Pillsbury's office one Monday morning, self-conscious in her sleeveless spring yellow dress as she strolls down the hallway.

"Hey," he's turning the corner with Santana and she figures they're headed to the same place she is – the auditorium's rightfully theirs for the month with Regionals coming up.

"Later," Santana walks away and into the bathroom as he nods his head to her.

"Were – were you talking to me?" Rachel's stuttering, folding her arms tightly below her chest.

"Is there anyone else in this hallway?" He asks. "You okay?"

"Again, your gestures are very nice, but…" she breathes, closing her eyes for a moment. "Noah, did someone pay you to be kind to me? Are – are you partaking in some sort of bet with Finn? Mike?"

"No one's got to pay me to treat the ladies the way the ladies deserve to be treated," he smirks.

"You're up to something, Noah," she hisses, pointing her finger right in his face as he tries his hardest to keep a straight face; tries his hardest not to laugh at her (cute) insanity.

He's up to something, but the only one who'll be paying for it is her.

**... ... ...**

He's Jewish and she's Jewish, so they must be together. According to his mom, things work like that, they do. Only, his mom is a crazy, traditional Jew that grew up around all of that – you're Jewish so it's only right you marry someone just like you. She's kind-of, sort-of friends with the Berry's; he guesses temple can do that to you, make you friends. She's kind-of, sort-of in love with the idea of her little Noah marrying their little Rachel. (_"People make fun of her nose, huh? I think it's beautiful – imagine the noses your children'll have!"_)

"Ma, keep on begging me to make grandchildren with Rachel Berry and I'll have to marry a Christian," he jokingly tells her as he watches her eyes bulge.

"You're not marrying Quinn, if that's what you're thinking," she warns him, shuddering. "And you're not marrying that Santana girl – she's bad news. No, no, no."

"And I'm not marrying Rachel Berry either," he tells her.

"She'd be quite a prize to bring to temple every Saturday, Noah! Think about that."

"I have," he answers. "The answer is no."

"So you have thought about it?" She says with a smirk plastered across her face as she rips a piece of Matzo (such the traditional Jew) and places it in her mouth.

Shit.

**... ... ...**

"Rachel?" He pulls her aside one day after an intense, hour-long rehearsal because after taking Regionals, they're determined to prove themselves yet again at Nationals so it's only fair they work their asses off – every single day.

"Yes, Mr. Schuester?" She's panting because dancing in a cardigan's got to be hard. "If this is about the set list, I can always rearrange the songs so everyone's harmonies are included and –"

"This isn't about the harmonies or your song selections; your song selections were amazing," he tells her with a grin. "Can we talk in the hallway?"

She gulps as she feels eleven pairs of eyes follow hers, the music getting lower and lower as her heart races faster and faster. "Did I do something?"

"To me, no – to yourself, yes," he says, almost disappointed. "Rachel, I know things are hard for you – you've been through a lot, but self-harm isn't the answer."

If her heart isn't already racing fast enough, it drops – it just drops and never finds its' way back up again. "I – I –"

"You don't need to apologize, Rachel. I know it's hard on you, I get it."

"But you don't," she doesn't bother wiping the tears that form around her eyes. "No one gets it, Mr. Schuester; no one."

Before he can answer, Finn and Santana find their way into the hallway because they totally need Rachel's vocals for _Open Arms_ – "She's like, the lead," is Finn's excuse for getting her back inside the auditorium.

**... ... ...**

"How could you tell him?" She's pretty sure she's yelling but hey, she should be allowed to yell, right? Miss Pillsbury betrayed her – she knows she's betrayed her and she's completely and utterly guilty.

"He figured it out, Rachel," she waves her hands frantically, telling Rachel to calm down as she paces back and forth throughout the office, her hands on her hips as tears fall down her cheeks. "If you keep wearing outfits like those," Miss Pillsbury scans her pink and white dress a few times, "it'll become apparent to not just him but to everyone – your friends in glee club, especially."

"He only knows because you led him to figure it out," she answers harshly. "I – I knew I was right when I said no one I've ever spoken to was trustworthy."

"I'm your guidance counselor," she fights back.

"You're also Mr. Schuester's mistress," she ignores the jaw drop Miss Pillsbury throws at her as she continues her frantic pacing around the office. "I – I shouldn't have –"

"It's fine, really," Miss Pillsbury clutches her throat, nervously stroking her thumb over the skin on her neck a few times.

"It isn't. None of this is fine," Rachel tells her.

For the first time since the beginning of their sessions, they agree on one thing.

Maybe it isn't so fine after all.

**... ... ...**

"Hey," Rachel's shocked to hear the voice on the other end is whose it is; she's never called before – not once.

"Hello…" she responds.

"You and me, Breadstix – sound good?"

She doesn't say yes but she doesn't object either because really, she's in no place to put off friends right now.

"I'll need a ride."

"Done," Santana says almost giddily.

**... ... ...**

They get there at around seven-thirty and she's got no clue who Santana could be waving to (she's pretty sure she didn't just imagine the 'you and me' part) but she folds her arms and just follows.

"Hudson, Puckerman," Santana greets them with a nod as they stand in front of her, their hands in their jean pockets. "Where are we sittin'?"

"Hi," Rachel whispers to Finn and Puck leads them to where their table is.

"Hey," he answers. "You look…pretty."

"I don't," she tells him. "Not with the millions of scars on my arms."

"You – what?"

Puck and Santana jerk their heads from the booth they're already seated in, piercing their eyes toward Finn and Rachel as they stand in the middle of the floor of the restaurant.

"I – we'll be right back," he grips her wrist as they head for the door.

"I'm going with," Puck rises from his seat as Santana throws a snicker in his direction. "Stay there, San."

By the time he gets close enough to them, Rachel's head's already buried in his shoulder as he shushes her. "It's not your fault," he tells her. "It's completely mine."

"God," he's not sure if he says it out loud, but he thinks he does because she turns her head and moves away from Finn as if she was doing something wrong.

"S'okay," Finn tells her. "I'm gonna go inside with Santana. She's probably like, super lonely."

He walks up to her, his hands in his pockets as he huffs a bit, "She's not lonely – Breadstix is her fucking kingdom."

"I figured," she doesn't even comment on his swearing.

"They still talk, y'know – Finn and Santana," he feels guilty, but he'd feel worse if he kept his mouth shut, something he's making out to be a pro at lately.

She stands calmly and nods, "I know."

"And you're cool with that?"

"Finn and I are never going to be together again, Noah," she sounds disappointed, and for the first time, he takes a second to think and actually understands why she might be so all he does is nod and put his hand on her shoulder a little bit.

"What does it feel like to like someone like – like that?" He can't believe he's asking her this but he is.

He can't believe she actually answers him, either. "Tiring," she giggles.

"He loves you, too, y'know."

"I never said I loved him," she answers.

"You didn't have to."

**... ... ...**

"Do you think you'll ever be over him one day?" Puck can't help but ask her as he's walking her back to the booth where Finn and Santana sit.

"One day," it's more of a promise to herself then an answer to his question, but it'll have to do – for her _and_ for him.

Because if Rachel knows anything, she knows a little piece of him is asking for himself.

(It makes her just a little bit happy inside – and she doesn't know why.)

**... ... ...**

Finn still texts her sometimes, and even though they've talked things through and decided not to take their complicated mess of a relationship anywhere as of now, she still can't help but smile just a little whenever she knows it's him.

_Did the cuts go away?_

It isn't the usual 'good morning' or 'hey', so she can't help but bear a small frown as she types out a reply.

_They won't ever go away._

She warned him not to tell anyone (_"You're not only putting me at jeopardy, but your chances of ever gaining my trust back will be slim to none, Finn Hudson."_) so he gulped and told her he wouldn't – not a word.

Sometimes she wishes he wasn't the one to know; she wishes she hadn't told him that night in the parking lot of Breadstix because really, she can't ever take it back.

She can't take any of it back.

The scars prove that much, though.

**... ... ...**

"Why'd you stop?" Santana digs her hand into a bowl of barbecue chips that sit on his bed and looks onto him as he throws his football to the wall and back.

"Why'd I stop what?"

"Caring," she tells Puck bluntly. "You completely gave up on Berry because you're just letting him have her."

"They gave up on the whole relationship bullshit," he tells her, rolling his eyes.

"Nuh-uh," she shakes her head, "And besides, this isn't about them. This is about you."

"I thought you'd be like, jealous if anything," he tells her honestly as she furrows her brow, biting into chip after chip as she looks down to him and waits for him to say something – anything. "You _were_ like, in love with me at one point, right?"

"Just because you totally dig Berry now doesn't mean you have to get all romantic on me, Puckerman," she yells.

"That's a yes."

So, Santana Lopez was in love with him at one point. If he felt up to it, he'd probably make fun of her for a few hours as she spat some names out at him, hit him once or twice with a football and then whine until he went down on her. Since he doesn't feel up to it, he nods his head and tells her it's cool, because he was probably in love with her at one point too.

**... ... ...**

It's the first time he's kissed her since the last time – the time when he kissed her so badly her boyfriend totally didn't want her anymore.

They're in the those two seats in the auditorium farthest from the stage and closest to the lights – the ones in the back he really likes because hell, sleeping throughout those dumb school plays is awesome and the ones in the back she really hates because well, why be in back when you can be front and center and not missing a second of the action?

(So, they're really different people – really, really different.)

"So this is why," she tells him once their lips pull apart, his hand still cupping the back of her neck. "This is why you had all of those questions – when I'd get over Finn; how it felt to be in love –"

"Hey, slow your roll," he tells her harshly, causing her to jerk her head away from his grip and fix her posture so she's facing forward. "Just because I kissed you for like, three seconds doesn't mean I'm in love with you."

"Four seconds."

"You counted?" He's laughing now and he's pretty sure she's laughing too.

"You always did call me the crazy one," she responds.

"Hey," he tells her. "At least you can admit it. I've never seen a chick so open about that kind of shit before."

"Believe me," she laughs. "I'm not open about it at all. As a matter of fact, Noah, I'm probably the most insecure person you've ever met."

"You're a liar now, too?" He says with a smirk as she playfully nudges his arm. "I'm just messing with you, Berry. It's just that Santana's got real issues admitting stuff like that; you're a change, I guess."

"Funny how all of our conversations wander back to Santana," she tells him.

He gets quiet and she doesn't have to ask why.

**... ... ...**

"Hey," she's filing her nails and she's probably got no idea he's talking to her, either. "Okay, so if we still know each other when we're forty and by some miracle we're both unmarried, would you ever consider marrying me?"

"Are you drunk again?" She tilts her head up only a little bit and nudges Brittany, who begins to giggle beside her.

"I don't think so…" He looks embarrassed and it's so fucking _rare_ for him to look embarrassed so she decides she'll look embarrassed for him too.

(Damn you, Berry. Damn you, damn you, damn you.)

**... ... ...**

It's fast and it's kind of awkward – they can both agree on that – when Finn and Santana make it somewhat 'official'. He's not allowed to namely refer to her as his girlfriend in public (_"You might as well staple me with a fucking label gun if you wanna call me that, Hudson."_) and she promises him she won't do the same, not that he'd really mind.

Puck sees her – he sees the jealousy and the rage and sometimes all he wants to do is lift up the sleeves of the sweaters she wears because well, he never knows if she'll do it again. He knows he shouldn't think like this, but sometimes, he sees Finn and Santana do something one moment, and the next all he can picture is a betrayed, hurt Rachel doing something stupid to herself once more.

"Hey," he finds her after rehearsal in the back of the auditorium, her legs folded as she skims a book. "I thought you hated the back row."

"Not anymore," she tells him, not once removing her glance from the book.

All he can say is, "cool", and he knows it's super lame but all of his focus is on the thick sleeve of that ugly cat sweater and for some reason, he wants to roll it up like never before and just check – just make sure she's okay because really, sometimes she scares him (in more ways than one.)

**... ... ...**

If Finn and Santana have made it official, they should be able to, too, right?

Wrong.

He knows, sure, that she probably wants him as bad as he wants her but she does a real horrible fucking job at showing it. Especially when he's over practicing his guitar as she sings to some crappy Streisand song – he learns _Streisand_ for her – but she takes a break in the bathroom so naturally, he picks up the journal that rests on her night table.

The name Rachel Hudson across three entire pages in big, loopy handwriting kind of makes him want to vomit.

He saves it for the Streisand song – that'll be his excuse this time.

**... ... ...**

They stay in a hotel in New York because it's Nationals and they've earned it – but they haven't earned it enough to share rooms with people of the opposite sex. Puck brings that factor up at least sixteen times during dinner, earning fist bumps from Artie and Mike and a nudge in the elbow from Rachel.

It's eight-thirty now and Santana's made it official – pillow fight in the downstairs lobby, be there or be square. Brittany and Puck are first downstairs, because well, it's the one game Brittany's a champ at and Puck…he knows seeing the girls toss around pillows at each other is a better prize then winning some singing competition anyway.

Brittany goes nuts when Puck's pillowcase opens and he starts pouring a shitload of feathers on top of Santana because she swears they've let a bird into the hotel. Santana begins to laugh and Puck likes that because, well, when's the last time he's seen her laugh, anyway?

Stopping short of her laughter, Santana turns to him for just a second, whispering, "I haven't seen Finn."

"I haven't seen Rachel."

"I'm going up there," Santana exclaims.

"No you're not," he holds her back, gripping her shoulder as she tries to break his hold. "It's always gonna be them, y'know."

She's silent, her gaze falling to the floor as she drops the pillow she clutches onto.

"And it's always gonna be us too, San." It's like a promise when he says it; she likes that, even if she'll never admit it.

**... ... ...**

"So you like him?" Finn asks her, and he's not mad either, so she places her hand on his knee and keeps it there for awhile.

"Not like I liked you," she answers.

"You said liked," he tells her. "I'm pretty sure that's like, past tense."

"You have a girlfriend now, Finn."

"And you have…a Puck," he laughs.

"But I'll always have a Finn, right?" She laughs into his sweatshirt and he smiles, feeling her hair with his hands.

She doesn't remember how the rest happens, but they fall asleep together under a mound of blankets in his and Puck's hotel room and she thinks his hand's stroking her backside but she doesn't feel for it because it's wrong to – it's wrong, wrong, wrong even though everything about this feels right, right, right.

**... ... ...**

They walk around the hotel and they don't yell – they just talk. He thinks he should grab her hand when she gets a little tired but he doesn't because it's wrong to – it's wrong, wrong, wrong even though everything about that would be right, right, right.

"So, remember that one night sophomore year I wrote you that dumb song and blamed it on too many beers?" He asks her as she holds in a laugh. "I wasn't even wasted – far from it."

"Keep going," she waves her hand and giggles. "I like this side of you."

"You do, huh?"

"Mhm," she nods. "And you know who'll like it even more? Rachel."

"She's fucking Hudson in my hotel room right about now," he laughs even though it's the last thing he wants to do, really. "I'd rather not walk in on that shit."

"He's my fucking boyfriend and I'm semi-cool with it," Santana shrugs. "I mean, we all know they'll end up together anyway, right?"

"That's where you're wrong."

She was wrong, wrong, wrong and he was right, right, right – just like they were for each other; a mess of both right and wrongs and everything else in between.

**... ... ...**

Just the air on the bus alone is dreary, and if he wouldn't be deemed a pussy for crying, he'd be doing just that along with most everyone else.

Rachel's sitting in the seat beside him, tapping her foot unsteadily before she leans back in her seat and silences herself – it's the quietest he's ever seen her.

"Hey," he taps on her just as she's about to close her eyes. "You did a kickass job. Those judges can suck it."

"Yeah – yeah," she's restless, he can tell. "They can suck it _hard_."

(She's starting to talk like him and he can't lie when he says it scares him just a little – just like everything else she does.)

**... ... ...**

It's the last day of school and he asks Santana to come to that stupid pond by his house because he just feels like skipping rocks and she hangs up on him because she's got to find a dress for dinner at Finn's house tonight. _Fuck the bitch_, he tells himself as he hops in his pick-up truck and just drives.

He doesn't know how or even why _Rachel_ ends up in his truck, but she just does – he's got no plans and she's got no plans, so they might as well have no plans together, right?

"Noah," she reaches her hand out and lowers the volume on the stereo which really pisses him off because well, it's _his_ fucking car and Nirvana's practically _his_ fucking band and she's just ruining all of it. "Can we talk?"

"Santana would've let me keep the radio on."

But she's not Santana – she reminds him over and over who she is until his lips are so sore from kissing her he's not sure he knows how to kiss anymore.

"'Night, Rachel," he nods his head to her and she blows a sweet kiss back.

He doesn't feel like himself because, well, usually Santana would walk out of his house with her hair teased, her shirt on backwards and he'd call her back really quickly so he could kiss her goodnight – maybe he'd bite her lip or try and feel her up; he liked to call it 'one for the road'. She'd leave and he wouldn't care when the next time would be – tomorrow, next week, a month. He'd just know there would be a next time. Nothing was planned; everything was spontaneous.

Rachel was a planner. (_"Tomorrow we'll drive your car up to the mountain and picnic alongside the river."_) He didn't mind her spitting out her bunches of ideas at him because he was groping her breasts all at the same time, so pretty much everything else was just a blur to him. But the funny thing is, he noticed himself actually _listening_ a few times and made note to get a picnic basket – (_"I like cheese platters and grapes. Nothing too fancy, but it has to be romantic."_) – and refill the tank in his car because the drive to the mountain was usually a long one.

Two hours of hot, spontaneous sex with a fiery Latina or two hours of a car drive up to the mountains for a picnic with a blabbering, jittery Jew.

He isn't sure which way he likes it best.

But he knows that he's not buying one of those tacky planning books – that's for sure.

**... ... ...**

His mom actually likes her, and he's pretty sure she isn't pretending either.

"Pass the potatoes, please?" She's charming and polite and she's actually placing her napkin across her lap so she won't spill anything on the black cocktail dress (not too tight, earning a thumbs up from Finn because his mom's _totally_ against all of that) she's showed up in.

They talk about college throughout dinner – fucking _college_ – and she tells Carole how much she wants to attend Harvard but it's practically out of the question because of tuition and all of that junk. So Carole puts her hand on top of hers sympathetically, rubbing her thumb against Santana's rough knuckles as she nods. "If you never try, you'll never know."

Those words stick with him. He's not sure why, really, maybe because they sound like they come from an awesome poem or a totally popular song, but they stick.

"Mom," Santana's gone so he stands behind her as she's cleaning up from dinner, bending over and placing every which dish inside of the dishwasher. "I –"

"I really like your girlfriend, Finn," she says, still bending down as she scrapes the scraps off of the dishes and sighs. "You always date such lovely girls – you do. They always have such ambition; such good dreams and goals – Julliard, huh?"

"She said Harvard, ma," he looks down at the ground and he knows she looks there too.

"Oh. Right."

They both know who she _really_ means, so she's got to say no more before he runs to his room and pulls out a piece of blank paper and a pen and just sits there for a good hour or two before a single word leaks out of his head.

His letter starts with _Dear Rachel…_ and he's never been surer of what to write next.

**... ... ...**

Rachel likes the summer because ever since she was six years old, her dads would take her down to the library and let her pick out a mountain of books and take them all home. _The Jewish Matilda_, they'd tease her.

One minute she's sprawled across a lawn chair in her front yard, a book wide open across her abdomen as she lifted cherry after cherry to her mouth, licking the sweetness off of her lips over and over. The next, she's hand in hand with Santana, sprinting down the hallway of the emergency room, because they've got to get to those two fucking morons – the two fucking morons that ran their car into a tree because like the two fucking morons they were, they figured they'd drown their sorry love lives in three six-packs and then go shoot some paintballs at Mr. Schuester's house just because.

"Stop squeezing me!" Rachel hisses at Santana as she frantically presses the button to the elevator.

"Relax," she tells her. "Puck'll be fine. Take my word for it."

Only a gulp comes from Rachel as she focuses on the elevator button – the unchanging elevator button.

"So you wanna go in and see Finn first?" Santana rests her hand on Rachel's forearm and she doesn't even bother to move it.

"Just a little," she shrugs.

"I was kind of hoping you'd let me see Puck first, anyway," she tells her.

"Funny how it always ends up working out that way," Rachel says.

Funny, indeed.

**... ... ...**

He breaks up with her right before school begins because they're totally about to have hot, hot sex when she says _his_ name – Puckerman.

Rachel bothers him for three hours about it – Santana's even sent her undercover to find out his reasoning (_"I'll go to that freaky Jewish place with you one day if you find out.")_– but he doesn't budge.

"Can we talk instead?"

"Why'd you do it?" She begs and begs, but she's not so sure if it's Santana's sake she's begging for now or her very own.

"I'm so stupid, Rachel," he tells her. "I wrote you that dumb letter – y'know, the one you haven't even like, bothered mentioning – and she must've found it; she must've fucking found it."

"Why – why do you say that?" Her hand trembles as she grips the phone closer to her ear because well, she should mention how many tissues she has to go through to get through the first page alone or how many times she skims a certain section – over and over and over – because every word is just there and so perfect, but she can't, because well, she doesn't want him to think that she wants him. That's not how it's supposed to work anymore. (Even though it's all she really prays for in temple nowadays – for things to work the way they should; anyway they should.)

"She finds any excuse to bring him up – Puck," he sighs and she can't tell whether he's disappointed or surprised.

"Oh," it's all she can say because well, she's not disappointed nor surprised, really.

"You knew they were in love too, right?" He asks after a few good minutes of silence.

"There's always going to be a Puck and Santana," she tells him.

He doesn't say anything, but he's still on the line because she can hear a bag of chips opening – she thinks it's chips – and giggles when she hears him start to shove them into his mouth.

"Barbecue?" She asks.

"My favorite," he responds.

It goes back to it just being him and his chips for a moment, but she stays on the line anyway because at least the sound of the crunching chips is somewhat company, right?

"Rach?" He asks, stuffing his mouth with the last bit of chips as he chomps down.

"Hm?"

"There's always going to be a Finn and Rachel too."

She smiles and just says, "I know," because really, she does.

She knows and he knows and Puck knows and Santana knows, too.

**... ... ...**

"Did you find out?" Santana calls her as Rachel's sprawled across her bed at around midnight and she's starting to think of it as a trend because well, she sure calls an awful lot. ("_But not because we're friends. You just know a lot of things and stuff."_)

"He knows, you know," she speaks softly, a part of her (just a part) feeling a little bit guilty.

"Hey," her voice is frisky, much to Rachel's surprise, "Do you think he loves me like that? Puck – not uh, not Finn."

"I knew exactly who you meant," she tells her.

"So…"

"As your friend, it's my job to find out, isn't it?" She hangs up with confidence because really, Santana can deny it all she wants, but they are completely friends and the both of them know it.

Before falling asleep, she has to lift up the sleeves of her nightgown just once because they're supposed to heal – not completely, but they're supposed to heal and they just don't so she feels like ripping every single page out of that _stupid_ diary that sits on her carpet because she's just so damn angry.

"Hello?" Her phone rings and it's past midnight but she can't just ignore him – she's tried all week long and it can't go on much longer, it can't.

"Stop doing that shit to yourself, you hear?" He's stern and not at all what she expects; he scares her a little and he's not supposed to scare her at all – he's never scared her before.

"What do you –"

"I saw those cuts, Berry," he tells her as she can feel the pounding in her chest grow, clutching her hands to her weak stomach. "You ignoring me all fucking week long isn't easy – I thought you went all nutty and started that shit up again."

She's quiet and he's in a rage, so she figures it's best to stay so.

"When's the last time you did that bullshit?" He utters with a hiss.

"Two months ago," she answers honestly. "But – but only because I did something _so_ ridiculously dumb."

"Having sex in my hotel room with Hudson wasn't dumb," he tells her. "We all knew it was bound to happen sooner or later."

"I gave him my virginity," she says almost guiltily.

"S'not like you were saving it for me anyway," he says honestly. "But we all knew that, too."

**... ... ...**

**tbc.**

a/n: So I feel incredibly silly even putting this upon you, but I'm most likely not going to invest my time in updating this fic unless I receive a bit of feedback. I'd love to know your opinions, really. Pretty please?


	2. Chapter 2

a/n: So, part two… I know it's kind of long, but hand me my four favorite Glee characters and throw in a whole entire senior year to work with and well… I hope you enjoy!

**... ... ...**

Santana Lopez has _never_ felt lonely before – not once in her entire life. But she does today, and it's pretty much the worst fucking feeling in the world, so she doesn't strut down the hallway, letting her ponytail swing as it brushes her shoulder blades, a smirk glued to her face. She's totally alone and it's all his fault – it's all his fucking fault and she's pretty sure he's not even sorry because he strolls down the hall with – with that _thing _and doesn't look half as broken as she does.

"Hi!" She wants to slap the enthusiasm right off of Rachel's face, but she holds herself back as she nods her head and just pulls a half-ass grin.

"Hey San," he won't look her in the eyes, so she doesn't look him in the eyes either. "You look ticked off."

All she can say is, "oh", because well, of _course_ she's ticked off – he's not supposed to be walking Berry to class. He's not supposed to be walking Berry anywhere at all.

"D'you wanna talk about it?" She does, but she's not so sure that he really does, so she kicks her heel a little farther into the floor and all she can do is huff.

"Noah," Rachel's tugging on his shoulder and really, it takes all of her will power not to reach her hand out and slap her arm right off of his. "You promised…"

"Right," he tells her.

_Wrong_, she feels like screaming out to the both of them, who are paying attention to anything but her as she stands beside them, huffing while she crosses her arms just beneath her breasts.

"We'll catch you later," he nods and looks in her direction for only a minute.

If the word _we'll _is not enough to break her, the way Rachel clutches onto his forearm as they stroll down the hall without one glance back just might.

**... ... ...**

He hates the first day of school because it's just so hard and there's like, way too many textbooks to lug around when all he wants to do is carry a football.

He's pretty relieved it's last period, even if he's got calculus and he's got no idea what calculus even is anyway.

He's not sure why Rachel's sitting in the back of the room – she never sits in the back of the room. (_"I couldn't imagine being seated anywhere but up in the front, even in a classroom – think of it being like sitting in a theatre, Finn. Who wants to be trapped in the back during a wondrous show, like, well…Evita?"_)

"Hey," he nods, slamming his textbook and that stupid calculator he's pretty sure he doesn't even know how to turn on right on top of the desk next to hers.

She turns her head to him for just a second, painting a small grin with her lips.

"Y'know," he looks around the room before he leans his face in closer to hers, whispering. "I can walk you to class, but – but only if you want me to. I know the plan was for Puck to follow you around like a cat, but I'm totally –"

"Like a dog, Finn," she tells him. "Cats don't follow you around; they're hardly indoor animals."

As his eyes drop to the desk, his face a little red with embarrassment, he clears his throat, "We just don't want to see you hurting yourself again."

She's quiet and it's awkward – it's so fucking awkward and he silently declares himself the king of word vomit.

"Rach?"

"Hm?" She's pressing her pen into the paper – almost so hard he cringes just a little – as she scribbles down number after number after number.

"Will we ever go back to normal?" He blames it on the word vomit again.

"We weren't ever normal to begin with," she tells him.

If there's one thing he learns in that gruesome period of calculus – aside from the fact that numbers will never be his friends – it's that he's pretty damn sure there'll never be a time Rachel Berry isn't right. She's right, right, right and maybe she has been all along; he thinks maybe he should've started listening to her a long time ago.

**... ... ...**

She's so little and he's so big – so big and _so_ horrifying that Santana can't help but race over and see what the fuck is going on. No, they're not friends – no matter how many times Rachel tries to declare the both of them acquaintances at the least – but it's big ol' Dave Karofsky and little ol' Rachel Berry and well, if Rachel won't kick some ass, she certainly will.

"The fuck, Karofsky?" Santana struts front and center, pushing and shoving the people who stand blankly beside the lockers with pride, looking on as Rachel holds her hands just in front of her eyes.

Before she can reach her hand out and swat his hand away from Rachel, she jumps when another one does.

"Let go, dick," Puck shouts from behind. "The fuck are you doing touching a girl anyway, huh?"

"The bitch started with me!" She knows the both of their faces totally drop because, well, Dave Karofsky did _not_ just call Rachel Berry a bitch. "She should keep her mouth shut and maybe then I'd leave her alone."

"S'not what matters," Puck's hands are clenched into two fists now, his gaze sharp on Karofsky as his eyes meet Rachel's, frightened and panicked. "Let her go before I rip –"

"Not so fast," Miss Pillsbury's running down the hall, her heels clicking and clacking as she hurriedly walks toward Karofsky, who's still got a grip on the collar of Rachel's sweater. "Dave, put her down this instant! And Rachel, Rachel are you – "

"Save it," Rachel tells her. "I'll just go back to class."

Most everyone walks away because well, if there isn't going to be any action, why stay?

"No," Puck grips her wrist just as she's ready to turn the corner of the hallway, jerking his glance toward her sternly. "We're going to the principal – you, me and S. We've gotta report this shit."

"Report it?" Santana furrows her brow. "They won't do shit, Puckerman."

"We can try," Rachel chimes in confidently, reaching her hand out for Santana's arm as she tugs her by the wrist. "Please, Santana. You – you witnessed it; you tried to help me."

Santana nods and then shrugs because, well, she's got to shut Rachel up somehow, right?

"Wait," Puck holds his hand out just before they walk toward the door to the office. "_You _tried to help _her_?"

"She did," Rachel answers before Santana can utter a word. "Last year she wouldn't have even acknowledged my existence, but –"

"A lot can change in a year, Berry," only she's not looking to Rachel when she says those words, and he knows why.

He knows _exactly_ why.

**... ... ...**

She's sick the first week of October so he visits her house with chicken noodle soup only to realize she's a vegan as he sits on her doorstep, the fall rain leaving a trail of water on the tip of his head.

"Come in," she's in a robe, her hair messed and her face pale, but she lets him in anyway and it's cool because well, she feels pretty comfortable around him even when she's not all dolled up and that must say _something_, right?

"Hey," he takes off his jacket and she snatches it from him and just throws it to the sofa. "I picked up some of your schoolwork and I brought you chicken noodle soup, but not before I realized you were a vegan. Now I just feel stupid."

"That's alright," she shrugs as she grabs the container of soup along with the stack of papers and books he holds in his hands. "It was still sweet of you to bring everything over to me."

"Cool," he watches as she sits down on the sofa, tossing a throw blanket over her body as she grabs the remote control from the coffee table. "Should – should I sit?"

"Stay with me."

"Aren't your dads –"

"Business trip," she tells him.

"Oh," he looks down at the fidgeting hands that sit in his pockets.

"Please, Finn. Please just stay with me."

He sits down on the sofa next to her, his hands still in his pockets as he lets out a huff.

"Do you love me?" She blurts out bluntly.

"Why does everything have to be so complicated, Rachel? I can't just sit down on a damn sofa without being asked all of these like, unbelievably stupid questions anymore?" His voice is scratchy and his hands tremble in his pockets and he just can't answer her – he can't fucking answer her because he's got no clue himself. _You don't love her, stupid. You love her, stupid_. They're the only words that actually stay in his head, and all he wishes is for them to go away – he wants them to go away and never ever come back because he's afraid he'll never have an answer.

"Well I love you," she tells him with doubtful eyes.

"You should rest," he answers after a moment of pure silence, pulling the throw blanket completely over her body and lifting her pillow so her head lies flat on it.

"Please," is all she can say.

She falls asleep by seven-thirty so he tells himself he'll stay until she wakes up because really, what kind of person would he be if he just walked out on her? _Finn Hudson_, _that's who_, he curses himself in his head no matter how many times he tells himself he'll stay – he has to stay, he has to.

She fidgets a little and he swears he hears her mumble, so he walks from the chair he's sitting in over to the couch where she lies, her tiny body mounded under the even tinier blanket. He brushes his index finger over the small piece of hair that blocks her forehead, but only before she can fidget some more.

"I love you too," he whispers when he knows she can't hear him.

"I know you do," she answers, her eyes droopy as she looks onto him for only a second before turning her head back over and planting it deep in her pillow.

She knows and he knows and Puck knows and Santana knows and the whole damn world knows.

**... ... ...**

Halloween parties aren't his thing, but hey, if Mike Chang's throwing one, it'd be pretty damn rude not to show, right?

It's already seven-thirty and Puck hasn't seen her once – she told him she'd be there but she fucking isn't and if it isn't for the six-pack Finn manages to sneak over for the both of them, he'd totally be losing his cool right about now.

"If it helps, I'm not sure where the hell Rachel is," Finn tells him as he lifts the bottle to his mouth, sipping slowly.

"S'not what matters. I need to talk to S like, now," Puck grunts, pounding his fists onto the tabletop.

"It's cool if you love her," Finn's glance doesn't meet his because Puck's going to kill him – he's going to fucking _kill_ him because Noah Puckerman doesn't love anyone; he doesn't even love himself.

"Oh," is all Puck can respond.

"I think I love Rachel," Finn blurts out before Puck can turn his glance back to the bottle he's gripping in his hands. "Like, a lot."

"Shit's crazy," Puck snickers. "But it's not we didn't see it comin', y'know?" He takes another swig of his beer and just nods.

"We had sex," he sounds guilty, but Puck can only laugh. "It's not funny, man. We did it the night of Nationals because she was crying like a baby and I was like, so vulnerable. I wanted her."

"You still do," Puck tells him.

"Mhm," Finn answers with a nod. "Real question is do _you_ still want her?"

Puck snickers, "Never wanted her to begin with."

"Thought so."

**... ... ...**

They find the girls sitting on the porch when Finn and Puck finally get up from the kitchen because Puck just _needs_ to find her – he's gotta fucking find her even if all she does is refuse to hear him out; push him away like the scared little girl that's inside of her.

"Hey," Finn speaks and only Rachel turns around.

She stands up from the end of the bench she's sitting on, her hands in her pockets as she takes a small breath. "Let's go inside."

"Because of Puck and Santana?" He whispers.

"Because of us," she's already headed toward the door and he turns around to Puck one last time before following behind. Puck's standing above Santana, who doesn't even look at him for a second. He grunts and huffs before she finally looks his way.

"What?" Santana asks harshly, her arms crossed beneath her breasts.

"You're gonna try and avoid me forever, huh?" He laughs a little, taking another swig of beer as he runs his hand over his forehead. "Newsflash – you can't."

"I thought you said you'd back off of her," Santana rolls her eyes. "Can't you just accept the fact that she's in love with Hudson and move on?"

"No," he tells her honestly. "And when'll you understand that I don't want her in the way you think I do? Damn, Lopez."

"You mean you _don't_ want to fuck her senseless? Because, damn, that's not the vibe –"

"I wanna be her fucking _friend_," and he does. He wants to be her friend and he hopes she'll let him, because really, she's actually pretty cool and sure, when she's ranting to him endlessly about topics he couldn't give a damn about or deeming him Noah (_"The name on your birth certificate is Noah, therefore I'll forever call you Noah. Who's 'Puck'?"_) it's a little irritating, but nonetheless, there's just something about her.

"That's a lie," Santana's laughing now, unfolding her arms as she slaps Puck in the shoulder, causing some beer to spill out of the bottle he's holding.

"S'not," he tells her. "And besides, even if we were just friends and all of that junk, who the hell says she has to go back to Hudson?"

"It's bound to happen," she snickers.

"It's like you said," he says. "A lot can change in a year."

She presses her lips together and looks onto him, a fire in her eyes, "Are we still talking about Finn and Rachel?"

"Do you want to still be talking about Finn and Rachel?"

She shrugs and can't help it when a small giggle slips from her mouth.

"Thought so."

**... ... ...**

It's November third the morning she calls him, panic striking every bone in her body.

"'Sup?" He's rubbing his eyes because, hello, it's only eight-thirty in the morning and it'll take him all he has not to chant the word psychopath six times before letting her speak.

"I did it again, Noah. I did it again and a whole line of blood is just trailing – it's trailing down my arm and I'm scared. What if I've provoked my own death? God, Noah –"

"Rachel, slow down," he shushes her. "Start from the beginning. What the fuck happened?"

"Language!" So she's most definitely not experiencing death if she has a second to remind him to tone down his swearing. (_"That's no way to hold a proper conversation, Noah. Think of it like reading a novel – would you really enjoy something containing swears in between every other word?"_)

"C'mon, what happened?" He snickers, running his hands over the small beads of sweat that roll down his forehead as he lifts the mountain of covers that are draped over his body.

"Well," she starts. "After the party a few nights ago, do you remember how I asked Finn if he could drive me home?"

"Mhm."

"I tried to do it again," she says guiltily. "I tried to have sex with him, Noah."

"So you're a rapist now?" He asks.

"_Noah_," she grunts.

"I'm sorry," he chuckles. "Continue."

"He wanted to have sex with me too, Noah," she tells him. "Only he didn't – he told me he couldn't because it'd be just like returning back to square one. He flat out rejected me."

"Maybe he –"

"Maybe _nothing_," she lets out a huff. "His constant rejection is slowly going to kill me, Noah. I – I know I may not show it, but I'm scared. I'm so, so scared of –"

"Of Finn?" He cuts her off.

"Of _everything_," she grumbles. "I'm scared of no one ever wanting me; of growing old and being alone for the rest of my life. I'm scared of never getting married or never having children; I'm scared of dying alone and –"

"Rachel," he may not say it to her, but right about now, all he does is feel guilty – guilty and so damn sorry. "You won't be alone."

"Who says?" He thinks she's crying now, so he gulps and shuts his eyes for a minute. "I have not _one_ friend, no one would even consider being in a relationship with me, and well, I've been told I'm too insane for my own good and I'm slowly starting to believe it."

"Who the fuck told you that?" He sits up in his bed now, ignoring his pounding head as he presses the phone closer to his ear.

"Santana, but – but it doesn't matter," she tells him. "I'm sorry I even called – you were probably asleep and here I am bothering you…"

"You could never bother me," he says. "I mean, sure, your never-ending rants about YouTube wannabe's covering Barbra Streisand songs in all the wrong ways may get pretty annoying, but you're cool Berry."

"I am?" She sounds surprised and he laughs.

"Totally," he tells her. "So stop hurting your pretty little self – emotionally, physically, all of that shit – because you've got one friend, y'know."

She's Rachel Berry so of _course_ one friend won't cut it for her, he knows it all too well. But he doesn't have forever, so it's worth a shot, right?

**... ... ...**

She's crying in the bathroom by the sinks and she doesn't even have time to wipe her tears before Rachel approaches her with a small grin, reaching her arm out and handing her a crumbled up tissue.

"I know it isn't easy for you, Santana," she whispers, tempted to reach her hand out and place it on Santana's shoulder because really, she needs some kind of comfort, even if she'll forever deny it. "Take it from me. I've got no friends; half of the school hates me…"

"I don't hate you," she turns around quickly, not even bothering to wipe the mascara marks that trickle down her cheeks.

"You don't?" Rachel furrows her brow.

"I was just pretending," she confesses.

"For almost three years?"

"Being jealous makes you do awful things sometimes," she walks out of the bathroom before Rachel can utter a single word.

But it's not like she knows what to say anyway.

**… … …**

Sectionals are a breeze – they've got to be a breeze because Rachel Berry is center stage belting _Cinderella_'s _A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes_ as the rest of New Directions pour onstage, backing her up with small hums.

_A Whole New World_ starts and they know – they know they're winning this thing because there's no reason for them not to.

Santana opens her mouth to sing and hell, he can't stop staring. Sure, she avoided him the whole bus ride, then again backstage, but he still can't help himself. She's a combination of beauty and fierceness all in one and it's _really_ fucking turning him on.

The urge is gone once they're finished and backstage and her arms are wrapped in Finn's because she was just 'so great out there' and because they 'totally got this thing'. Puck knows he could've told her the same thing and that could've been _him_ standing there, so he tries his hardest to ignore that fucking pounding in his chest – the pounding telling him to man the fuck up and go and get that girl before someone else does.

"Hey," he's shocked she's decided to not be a stubborn bitch and totally avoid him, so he nods his head a bit, his hands deep in his pockets as his eyes meet hers. "Tell me how fucking shaky I was."

"Shouldn't Finn be telling you?" He's jealous – he's so fucking jealous and he couldn't give a fuck less if she figures it out.

"We're friends, remember?" She snickers. "Just like you and Berry have decided to be friends, Hudson and I are doing the same."

"Right," he nods.

"Just like us, too," she tells him.

"Right," he nods again.

That part was a lie, and the both of them couldn't know it any better.

**… … …**

Rachel's cried herself to sleep lots of times before. Once when she was ten because she completely screwed up her audition for Fiddler on the Roof and blew any chance of ever being Tzeitel, another time when she was twelve and grew tired of the constant taunting she received for having two gay dads, another time after that when she just turned fourteen and couldn't look in the mirror without scanning every inch of her skin and deeming it not good enough. She remembers reading somewhere whenever you cry yourself to sleep, it guarantees you bad dreams. She's still waiting for the proof.

She's crying tonight, only she's not so sure why – she figures it's just one of those days so she curls her body up and throws herself under a wad of blankets, letting the tears that fall from her eyes drip onto her pillow.

She has to check her phone because she's sure Finn's supposed to text her – he always texts around ten o'clock whether it's a hi or a goodnight or a stupid message about how Kurt's yelling at him for knocking over a vase again, it's always waiting for her.

She flips her body over and opens the cover of her phone, sighing as she lies back down on her bed and sinks her head farther into her pillow. So there's a text message waiting, but it's definitely not from him.

_Don't do anything stupid, Berry._

There's another one right after that one, too.

_If you need to talk, don't be afraid to shoot me a text. Like I said, we're friends. Sleep easy, OK?_

So Noah Puckerman's her friend – he's _really_ her friend. And she never thought she'd like it, but she guesses people can prove themselves wrong sometimes.

**… … …**

Rachel sits down with Finn at the table in his kitchen because she's going to help him – she's going to help him apply for college in early January even though he sighs the moment she picks up the first application and clicks her pen repeatedly, "It's better you get a head start, Finn."

"I'm not gonna get in," he says doubtfully. "You'll be at some kickass school like – like Julliard, and I'll be stuck here in Lima like, mowing lawns or some garbage."

"That's not true," she doesn't look up from the sheet of paper she's scribbling on. "If I can believe in you, why can't _you_ believe in you, hm?"

"You don't – anymore," he takes his hand and places it over her wrist, stopping her from writing any more down on that stupid sheet of paper. "Just don't fill any more of those out, Rach."

"Beg all you want," she laughs. "At least let me fill out one application – it's Ohio State and there's no way they wouldn't accept you, Finn."

"It's not like I'll get into like, a New York school or anything fancy like that," he says.

"New York? I – I never knew you were interested in going to New York for college."

"I wasn't," he says after awhile. "Not before I knew you'd be going there."

Rachel knows what that means – she thinks she knows what that means.

"I – I just had this picture in my head – this stupid, stupid picture," he mumbles.

"And that picture would be…?"

"Me," he starts. "And you – me and you in New York City, you studying theatre and me studying, well, whatever. We'd have this super rad loft apartment with those awesome spiral stairs and a mini-fridge in the bathroom and two cats because I know even though you've always wanted a dog and I've always wanted a dog, you're like, super allergic so we'd have to settle with cats and –"

"Wow," is all she can manage to say before his lips are against hers and she can't feel anything so she totally drops that stupid pen he doesn't want her to be holding in the first place.

"You – you can hit me now," he tells her when they pull apart not three seconds later.

"Hit you?" She says quietly. "Why would I hit you? Finn, that – that was almost perfect. _Almost_."

"What would've made it perfect? Did – did I kiss you wrong?"

Rachel shakes her head. "We can't have a mini-fridge in the damn bathroom," she giggles.

Okay, so they aren't perfect, but they'll get there – he knows it and he thinks she knows it too.

**… … …**

Puck doesn't even remember the last time he's had sex with Santana – six or seven or maybe eight months ago.

But they're having sex tonight – rather, they had sex and she's still in his bed, which is pretty much a good sign, right?

"I've gotta hit the road in like, five," she tells him, hoisting her body from the pillow she's leaned up against and to the floor in search for her shoes and her keys and everything else of hers that's lying around his room.

"Wait," he grabs her wrist before she can get up. "I've gotta ask you one question."

"Shoot," she says.

"Where do you see yourself in five years?"

She snickers, "C'mon, I don't have time for this shit!" Santana swats his hand away from hers as she stomps out of the bed, bending down and throwing her shoes and her keys and all of her other shit right into her hands, not once looking over at him.

"You just fucked me senseless for like, an hour," he smirks. "I think you can stay for like, two more minutes. Just – just hear me out." She's pretty sure he's begging and even though she blames him for like, half of the things that are wrong with her, it's kind of hot and needy and all of the other emotions thrown into one – how can she leave?

"Fine," is all she says as she sits on his bed once again, folding one leg over the other and crossing her arms before letting out a huff.

"So…?"

"'So' _what_, Puck?" She yells.

"Let's just do this," he tells her, reaching for her wrist before she swats it away in disgust.

"Do _what_?"

"Please," he breathes heavily, her eyes rolling as she looks onto him because really, she doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. "We both know you wanna go out with me – whether the feelings were there two months ago, two _years_ ago, you wanna go out with me."

She purses her lips together, "You're scaring me."

"Santana Lopez is _never_ scared," he says coyly. "Like, ever."

"Not true," she shakes her head and looks up with those eyes that break his fucking heart – those once-in-a-blue-moon eyes he remembers her pulling only once before; only that night in the hotel just before Nationals junior year the moment they both realized just where Finn and Rachel ran off to. "Freshman year," she gulps.

"What?" He narrows his eyes and she drops her head, looking away from him and down at her lap.

"After I joined the Cheerios, I just – I just lost my head," she says quietly. "I let it get the best of me; I let it totally take over. I was sick."

For some reason, he still can't picture it – _her_ scared – it just doesn't match up in his head.

"I starved myself," she says guiltily, looking up at him now as she bites her bottom lip. "I was scared – I was scared I'd never be able to stop."

"But you did," he says.

"Only because of you."

All he can think to himself is, well, 'what the hell' because he sure as hell doesn't know about any of this – not until today, of course.

"You started showing me how hot you thought I was at the end of freshman year, 'member?"

He gulps because yeah, he remembers. He remembers taking her virginity and fucking her senseless and turning her into what everyone still claims her to be – a slut. Only, she isn't really a slut; she isn't a slut at all. She's scared and he knows if he'd taken the chance to learn that before – that she's pretty much just one of those scared, vulnerable girls with that thick shell – things might've been different.

"I don't regret any of it, y'know," she nods. "I'm glad we got to know each other, even if it was only sexually."

"Lies," he laughs. "We were pretty kickass video gaming partners, too."

She giggles, biting her lip down as she clears her throat. "Let's get to know each other, Puck," she's grabbing his hands now and even though he should pull away – tell her to let go; to stop before she gets herself into something she can't back – he just doesn't.

"So is that a yes?" He asks her.

"You never asked me a question."

Fuck. "Fine," he moans. "Go out with me, San."

"That wasn't a question," she snickers.

"Santana," he grips her wrist with his fingers. "Would you stop being a stubborn bitch and go out with me?"

"No," is all she can say, and really, it takes him all he has not to lunge toward her and completely pound his fist into that stupid ass smirk she wears with a gallon of pride. "Ask me again after high school's over," she sighs.

"And why would you want that?" He furrows his brow and tries to keep his cool, even if he's fucking raged inside because, well, Santana Lopez is a total fucking _tease_ and he just wants to hit anything and everything and sight and maybe even run his truck into the lake too.

So he deems her crazy, "We've gotta put the past behind us, Puck."

He groans.

"Ask me again graduation night and I'll say yes," she promises him. "That's if you actually _graduate._"

Sure, he's gotta work his ass off three times as harder now to guarantee himself a spot at graduation, but he'll do it. "See you in college, sucker."

So she tangles her lips in his before she dashes out of his house, her shirt buttoned in all the wrong places, her hair teased and her shoes on the wrong feet.

And they're back.

**… … …**

They study from four o'clock in the afternoon to around eight o'clock in the evening, and that's totally enough for Puck. Sure, the Berry's have a lovely home – good food, comfy chairs, all of that good shit – but he's had enough because he's pretty sure if Rachel jots down one more stupid note on those stupid sticky notes, he might just lose it.

"You must focus, Noah," she demands. "Your chances of receiving a letter of admittance to Ohio State are slim to none."

She pauses so he pauses along with her and begins indifferently flipping through the pages of the calculus textbook she sits in front of him.

"I know why you chose it," she says.

"You – you do?" No, she can't know – she doesn't have any fucking clue because he hasn't told her a thing.

"There'll be other Santana's," she tells him.

"There won't be other Finn's, will there?"

She's quiet.

He's right.

For once, he's right, right, right and Rachel's just wrong, wrong, wrong.

He's just going to embrace that.

**… … …**

Finn totally scores a B on his calculus exam, and he's not even sure how he does it, but his mom is like, super proud – so proud she even hangs his test up on the fridge.

His mom's invited Rachel to stay over for dinner because she's been helping him study since like, three o'clock so she must be starving, no?

Rachel can't help but nudge the bottom of Finn's leg with her foot every time his mom mentions something about him – her 'NYU boy', she calls him. "She's so proud," Rachel even whispers once his mom's gone into the kitchen to get more mashed potatoes off of the stove.

"I'm happy for you, Finn," Kurt speaks for the first time since dinner's began, which is pretty much a rarity for him. "I mean, even if you're only working your ass off to get into NYU for _her_." He looks over at Rachel and she's confused because, wait, they're supposed to be friends – they're supposed to be really good friends and from the look he's shooting toward her, she couldn't imagine him to detest her more.

"I'm –"

"You're what, Finn?" Something inside of her drops, but she's not sure whether to feel bad or good about this whole entire mess. "I thought NYU was your dream school."

"Funny," Kurt interrupts. "We all thought he'd just end up fixing cars in some auto shop downtown."

"Kurt!" His mom's back just in time, placing the mashed potatoes down on the table before shooting a furious glance in Kurt's direction. "Finn's worked his butt off for this – for NYU and for himself. Please, Kurt, keep your comments to yourself – whatever it is, keep it to yourself."

Finn chimes in, "Mom, I –"

"And, Kurt, if he did it for _her_," she emphasizes on the 'her', shooting her head to where a nervous Rachel sits. "Then so be it."

"Did you do this to impress me, Finn?" Rachel whispers, nudging his arm with her elbow.

"Sweetheart," his mom chimes in before Finn can utter a single word. "NYU or not, there's not a doubt in my mind I'll be at yours and Finn's wedding someday."

She tells herself to remind Finn to listen to his mom more – it's a must.

**… … …**

Puck's never had a solo – not one that mattered, anyway. Sure, he's covered everything from like, Billy Joel to Neil Diamond, and he tells himself that sure, that's pretty cool and all, but he's at Regionals and he's pretty sure the thousands of people in the audience are really close to making him want to piss his pants.

"Good luck," Quinn Fabray, of all people, places her hand to his back just before he turns the corner to the stage. "You and Santana'll kill the hell out of it."

"You think so?" Santana – he forgets they've gotta sing together, so his breaths become even heavier, beads of sweat peering down his body at every angle.

She nods, "I'm really happy for you both."

"Are we still talkin' about the song here or…?"

"Santana told me about everything at practice the other day – graduation, college, you," she smiles so he has to smile too, even if it's a just a little smile. "She's pretty pumped for graduation night."

He nods and gets ready to walk to the side door leading to the stage, but not before she grabs his forearm gently.

"I think it's fate," she tells him and all he can do is lift his brow because he's really got no idea what she's saying, but if she's tying Beth or any part of their history together into it, he can't hear it – he can't. "I know after sophomore year, I was kind of hoping we'd be together – and I think you were, too – but I think I can speak for both of us when I say things didn't turn out so badly after all, right?"

"Yeah," he nods after a moment of pure silence.

"C'mon!" Santana grabs him from behind, her nails digging into the skin on his wrist. "Let's do this!"

He runs to the side door, Santana's hand still to his arm as she fidgets beside him, but he can't help but look back to Quinn one last time.

He's pretty sure she mouths the words 'told you', but the lights fade and Santana's still on his arm, so he can't ask her whatever it is she said because he's rushed out onto the stage, the audience's faces blurred and dizzy as he listens to Santana let out the first note of the song.

But maybe he's not supposed to know – maybe that's part of the whole 'fate' business in the first place.

**… … …**

"Sleepy?" Finn asks her as they stand in the parking lot of Carmel High, his eyes still in admiration toward the four foot tall trophy that stands on the ground close to him. "Here, lean."

"Mm," Rachel mumbles. "We did it."

"We did," he beams proudly.

Rachel brushes her fingers up and down the sleeve of his shirt, smiling a little smile before leaning her head to his forearm. "One step closer to getting out of here," she tells him.

He nods.

"Hey," Santana walks toward them, her hands on her hips as she speaks quietly. "We sure kicked ass, huh?"

"Yeah," Finn nods his head. "You – you did great."

Santana smiles and looks down to his arm – down to a restless Rachel, her head nestled there as she closes her eyes for a moment. "Cute," she tells him. "You and Rachel, I mean."

"I know what you meant," he nods. "Hey, listen, can I uh – can I tell you something?"

"Mhm," Santana presses her lips together, nodding. "'Sup?"

He looks down to Rachel once before opening his mouth because he's gotta make sure she can't like, read his thoughts and blurt something out before he has the chance to. "I – I cheated on you junior year," he tells her guiltily. "It was a pretty crappy thing to do. I'm so sorry, Santana, I am. And I –"

"Stop. I know. S'okay," he knew she wouldn't be horrified – not angrily upset or anything like that – but she shrugs and just nods, a small, understanding grin still shining across her lips, so he finds it weird that she's like, ultimately cool with it all.

"It is?"

"Hey," she shrugs once more. "You do some crazy things for the people you love, huh? Look, if I don't get a wedding invite from either one of you within the next ten years, some serious shit'll go down, you hear me?"

He laughs for a second and then nods because, well, the thing he loves is still leaning far into his arm, and it'd be pretty crazy just to let it all go, wouldn't it?

Totally.

**… … …**

Santana Lopez doesn't _do_ dates – never has, never will. Not until Noah Puckerman practically pleads for her to join him for coffee at that shitty little café down the street from his house, that is.

She's not sure why, but after practice she rushes home to shower, and she even tells herself she'll let her hair down, so she loosens it from the tight ponytail it's in and lets it sway just past her shoulder, because he totally digs her hair when it's down – he's told her like, once before and sober or not, she totally remembers.

She walks into the café fifteen minutes past five and he's already there, sitting at the farthest table in the back with a book, from what she can see.

"So you _do_ read." She peers her head from behind his shoulder and taps her nails on the cover of the book, letting out a chuckle.

"Studyin'," he tells her. "I gotta get into Ohio State like it's nobody's business, y'know?"

"_I've _gotta keep up my shit so I can _stay_ in Ohio State," she spats. "Since when are you taking interest in college anyway?"

"Screw you for even asking," he snickers. "Have a seat; there aren't two chairs there for nothin'."

She sits without a word, her eyes rolling as they meet the textbook he's ever so focused on.

"You look pretty," he looks up from the textbook for just a minute, arching his brow. "You do something different with your hair?"

"My God," she hisses. "You just know how to set me off, don't you?"

"In the bedroom and out," he props his head up and just looks at her as she sits unamused, her arms folded beneath her chest. "Can't you take a damn joke?"

"Following me to college isn't a joke," she says. "College is supposed to be my time to start over; to forget about Lima and about everyone and everything here – that includes you."

"That's just the thing," he shakes his head. "I wanna be the one thing you don't forget in college."

"Are you a dumbass?"

"Can dumbasses love someone?" He asks her.

She's still for a long moment; her cheeks flush pink as she nervously runs her hands through her hair.

"Is that a yes?"

She's still quiet, fidgeting and fiddling in every which way possible.

"I love you, you crazy bitch," he says bluntly, her eyes wide in shock.

"What –"

"I'm not takin' it back," he tells her, shrugging. "Graduation or no graduation, I just told you I love you and you better write it down – write the date, the time, everything – because it happened."

She reaches her arm across the table, wiping her shaky hand over his. "I take my coffee light, two sugars. It's on you, right?"

"The fuck I look like Lopez?" He snickers. "I'm over here like, pourin' my heart out to you and you have the nerve to ask me for coffee? Damn you to all hell and back, you –"

"Graduation night means graduation night," she nods. "I didn't just say that for nothin'."

He wants to tell her forget – _I'm sorry, but since you're such a stubborn bitch, I'm gonna move on now_ – but there's no way in hell he can do that because she's Santana Lopez and he's Noah Puckerman and no matter how long it takes him to prove it to her, they're the best when they're being Santana Lopez and Noah Puckerman together.

So he sighs, places his hands in the pockets of his jeans and walks over to the counter, making sure to grab two sugars, just the way she likes it. He looks back for only a second to see her half-facing the window, a sly grin planted on her face.

(Damn that Lopez. Damn her, damn her, damn her.)

**… … …**

Finn comes over most every day after school because if they're not practicing for Nationals, they're studying their asses off. It's not that he minds, because she kisses him some days – they even make out on her bed once or twice when she's sure her dads won't be home 'till like, super late – but it's just _so_ much work.

But today, he's totally running late because his car won't start, but he'll be there – he will. He leaves his phone deep inside the pocket of his jeans because she's probably called him like, forty times and he just can't talk right now.

He gets to her house by six o'clock and pulls out his phone as he closes his car door and walks up to her front steps – no missed calls or unread messages. He dials her three times and just gets her answering machine, so his first instinct is to lift up the doormat and grab the spare key – the one she's told him about for those 'just in case' moments that never happen but are cool to know about anyway.

The house is quiet and her dads are obviously at work or something because everything's like, totally dark and empty, so he just trails on upstairs and sighs before opening her room door. Empty.

He paces down the hall until he comes to the bathroom because there's definitely a light on in there, so he quickly starts to open the door until he hears a bang.

"Oh God," Rachel cries. "Go!"

"Rachel?" He breathes. "Let me come in, c'mon." So he opens the door a little bit more because, well, he's just gotta know what's going on.

"Finn, go," she immediately demands. "Please, go."

But for him, that only means push harder. He grabs the handle of the door and flings it open, only before he sees Rachel hunched over the sink, long black streaks of mascara dripping down her cheeks. "You're crying," he says.

"No shit," she hisses and he gasps because Rachel Berry doesn't believe in swearing – ever. "You're not going to be of any help, Finn, so go."

"That's not true," he grabs her chin with his index finger and his thumb, because really, he has all night – he'll wait all night with her in this stupid bathroom until she looks him in the eye at least once; just once. She jerks her head back before her eyes meet his, taking small breaths as she looks down into the sink. "Is that – Rachel, tell me you didn't do that crap again. I – I thought you stopped!"

"I thought I stopped too, Finn," she whimpers guiltily, throwing her hands up to her forehead and running them through her hair.

He wants to cry because he's looking at her and she's totally on the verge, and he's not sure how or why she even did this, but part of him wants to smack her silly for it. The blood inside of the sink ultimately stops any of those feelings, though.

"I'll clean it up myself," she offers, kneeling down to the floor as she reaches for a cloth in the bottom cabinet of the counters beneath the sink. "You can go home, really."

"Wait," he stops her before she can try to rush him out of the bathroom – rush him out of doing anything at all to help her. "Why'd you do it, Rach?"

"College," she whines. "Stupid NYU – stupid, stupid NYU."

His stomach drops because even though he's not sure what in hell he did, a wave of guilt builds over him like a tsunami and all he can do is reach out his arm and tug her close to his chest, even though he probably shouldn't be doing anything like that at all. "I won't go," he assures her.

She jerks her head up to his as she pulls herself out of his grip, "Okay."

"What do you mean 'okay'?"

"I mean 'okay'," says Rachel. "Just 'okay'."

He's quiet for a moment before he finally looks at her, his eyes dizzy and his stomach weak. "I was kinda hoping you'd say something other than 'okay," he breathes. "Telling me to go wouldn't have been so bad."

"We both know it's not what you want," she tells him. So maybe she's right – maybe the only reason he's taken any interest in a school like NYU is because she'll be there in New York, too; Rachel Berry'll be there in New York so it's only fair he try too, right? "You want to coach football in a small town like Lima, get married and maybe have a kid or two – I don't want anything like that at all. Finn, I want Broadway – I want fortune and fame and a small apartment on the Upper East Side, maybe a cat or two. Face it, we're not the same."

"But that's what makes us so cool, Rachel," he smiles a little bit. "I mean, we're not supposed to want the same things, right? We're supposed to like, find all of the things we like and somehow make them work."

She raises her eyebrow a bit as she scrubs the interior of the sink – the stains he can't bring himself to look at.

"You want two cats and Broadway? You'll get two cats and Broadway," he promises. "I want two kids and football? I can get that along with the two cats and Broadway."

He doesn't remember much else of their conversation – or much else at all, for that matter – because he's sitting on the edge of her bed as she sits in between his legs, his fingers fiddling with the zipper on her sweater because it just _won't _come off. "Mm," he presses his lips together. "Stay still."

"Wait – Finn, wait," she presses her hand to his chest and lunges her body forward, shimmying so the sleeves of her sweater rise up her arm once more, covering her bra strap. "Talk first," she breathes heavily.

So he doesn't remember how it happens by the time they're awakened by the sound of one angry Mr. Berry pounding on the door to her bedroom at six thirty in the morning, but he's pretty sure they've got their whole future mapped out and it only took one night, a couple of tears and a few kisses to do so.

Score one for Finn Hudson.

(And he can't wait to make a touchdown.)

**… … …**

Santana hasn't had an actual conversation with Rachel in like, weeks. Usually, she'd shrug because well, _what the hell ever, you don't actually like her anyway._ But today she's window shopping in the mall all by herself after Cheerios practice because she feels like being anywhere but home, and she can't help but think of Rachel when she passes by the dress store and pauses, looking onto the hundreds of dresses all lined up, untouched and like, super perfect.

"Hey," she greets. "I'm at the mall and I just passed by the dress store and there's like, hundreds of 'em – I just thought of you because on the bus on the way to Regionals, you totally told me how much you dreamed of going to prom and like –"

"Slow down," Rachel laughs. "Is this an invite for an afternoon in the mall with _you_, lady?"

"I'd be like, totally offended if you didn't show up," Santana tells her.

"I'll see you there in twenty," Rachel says.

She shuts her phone and stops herself from smiling because, well, she doesn't actually like Rachel Berry anyway – nope.

(But Rachel Berry's going to look like, totally stunning in that purple ensemble Santana sees from the window of the store – yup.)

**… … …**

Finn walks out of the guidance counselor's office just as Rachel's walking down the hall on her way to rehearsal and he's totally stoked and she's totally stoked too.

"I have a 3.2 GPA!" "I got my letter!" They both yell out at once.

"You first," Rachel says.

"I've got a 3.2 GPA," he says, almost glowing. "You know what that means?"

"The Upper East Side apartment and Broadway and football and two cats and two kids – which I'm naming Liesl and Gretl after _The Sound of Music_, of course – I'm guessing?"

"First off, those names are like, totally ugly, but…" Rachel smacks his forearm with her hand. "The rest is spot on."

She's silent and he isn't sure if it's because he just like, totally insulted those Von Trapp kids or because really, she'd rather not have him join her in New York after all.

"Well say _something_," he begs.

"I just really like being Finn Hudson's girlfriend," she giggles.

"So we're back to that now?" He jokes.

"Let's just pretend we never left it," she says.

One step closer to a touchdown – sweet.

**… … …**

He hates the idea of prom and she hates the idea of prom, so why not go together, right?

Wrong.

Puck spends prom night scrubbing Santana Lopez's vomit off of the seats of his car. And sure, he thinks that he like, loves her and shit so he'd do it for her regardless, but he'd like to see anyone else try and do it – it's no party, that's for sure.

"S'all good," he tells her after the hundredth time she chants out an 'I'm sorry!' to him as she sits in the passenger seat.

"It's not, really," she leans her head back into the seat, moaning.

"S, stop apologizing," he says. "But next time Mike Chang throws a pre-party, y'might wanna count the amount of liquor you drink, really."

"Oh, you're one to talk," she snickers. "You run around town getting drunk whenever the fuck you feel like it and you're telling _me_ to control _my_ liquor."

"S –"

"No," she holds up her index finger and hisses. "You're jealous of Mike Chang. I – I kissed him y'know. I kissed him tonight in the kitchen at his pre-party and I'm not saying sorry."

So the liquor's still in her system, he knows that much.

"Cool," is all he can say without feeling the urge to punch something; anything.

"But I don't love him," she says quickly.

"You don't love me either," Puck tells her.

"I thought so too," she says. "I really thought so – and up until tonight, I'm not sure I did."

"What changed?"

"I did, Puck," she tells him. "I'm not – I'm not that stupid little bitch who's gonna expect you to be everything you're not; I don't expect you to want to go to college and be like, a lawyer or some shit. You wanna mow lawns? You go right ahead!"

He grins now because if he didn't know it before, he knows it now. Santana Lopez is undoubtedly the coolest bitch alive. "And you'd still love me?"

"I'll still love you," she exclaims.

"'Gotcha," he points his index finger to her and snickers.

"I don't – I don't get it."

"You just admitted that you love me, Santana Lopez," he tells her. "And you can't take it back, either."

"God knows I won't," she sighs.

**... ... ...**

The day he gets his letter from NYU, he's not even sure he wants to open it, so he tosses it on the coffee table with all of the other mail – credit card bills (ala Kurt), phone bill, all of that useless junk.

"No!" Rachel's sitting on the couch in his living room waiting for the soccer game she was forced into watching with him to start when she reaches out her arm to the coffee table and picks up the letter herself. "I won't let you ignore it."

"Oh, the perks of being Rachel Berry's boyfriend," he says sarcastically.

"You'll thank me in the future," she tells him. "If you're not opening it, I am. Now sit."

Even as he fights her by tugging on her wrists and blowing a huge, wet kiss onto her neck to like, totally distract her, she still manages to tear it open and read it before he even has the chance to stop her.

"Oh," is all she says as she scans the letter, so it totally makes him nervous, because either she's being a complete tease or he's been rejected, which isn't only bad for him, but like, completely embarrassing too.

"Well…?" He's fiddling with his fingers as he nervously looks on.

She just looks up at him and smiles – not a 'Congratulations, you got in!' kind of smile, but like, a 'Broadway, football, two cats, two kids, Upper East Side apartment' kind of smile. "New York's going to be some adventure."

"Oh," he's still for a minute. "_Oh_! Are you kidding?" He just wants to squeeze her – he wants to wrap his arms around her tiny frame and just squeeze every inch of her because he's totally going to NYU and she's totally going to Julliard and together he's pretty sure they're totally gonna kick ass in New York City.

"C'mere, coach," she opens her arms for a hug and that's when he knows he's like, the luckiest guy ever with like, the best girlfriend ever. "I'm so proud of you!"

"I'll keep making you proud," he promises her. "And I'll make Gretl and Liesl proud, too."

"Oh goodness," she slams her palm into her forehead and giggles. "You even remembered the names."

"I remember lots of things," he says. "One of them being you thinking we'd never make it."

"I guess I can be wrong," she says. "But – but only sometimes!"

**... ... ...**

He doesn't know who the girl pacing around the dressing room, her hands at her hips and she worriedly rushes back and forth claiming her pitch is 'completely off' is, but he asks her what she did with his girlfriend, because Rachel Berry is _never_ nervous.

"But it's Nationals," is her excuse.

He can tell – he can tell how much she wants to burst into tears at that very moment and he can't blame her because, well, it's the end. It's the last time they'll ever be exiting those doors backstage and onto that stage as a team; as New Directions.

"I'll miss it," she tells him after a good moment of silence. "All of it."

"You'll have Broadway," he says. "Once you have Broadway, all of this'll seem like _nothing_."

"Not true," she says. "I'll never forget any of this."

It's showtime, he's pretty sure, because the lights totally just blinked twice and Santana's totally pushing his body and Rachel's body and yelling at them to get out there; to go on stage and kick ass for them – for all of them.

"Break a leg," Finn whispers as they stand behind the curtain, taking note of Rachel's shaky limbs.

"I love you," is all she has time to say before the music begins.

**... ... ...**

So they win Nationals senior year and it's over and done with quicker than any other competition before. It's their last, yes, but by far the best. By the time they're off the stage and behind it, everyone's hands are meshed with everyones', a pool of tears drowning out much of everything around them.

"Hi," Santana nudges Puck as she finally finds his arm in the crowd that is New Directions; their glee club meshed together in a circle, leaning on one another as the tears fall from their faces. "We did good out there."

"We did," she thinks he's crying but she says nothing because she's like, super close to crying too, so she just gulps and takes his hand with hers. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"This," he says. "And that." He's looking down at his hand and her hand and he strokes his thumb over her knuckles for like, half of a second, which she thinks is pretty sweet.

"I love you, Puck," she whispers.

"What was that for?"

"Just felt like it," she says.

"I can get used to that," he laughs.

**... ... ...**

Everyone's congratulated one another and they're tired – Mr. Schuester wraps up his speech in the lobby of the hotel pretty quickly and tells them they should go off and enjoy themselves; it _is_ only the prettiest hotel in California. Finn holds Rachel's hand all the way up to his hotel room, and it's cool, even if she stops in her tracks every five seconds to comment on the judges' unfair scoring method or the way the judge all the way to the left stared her down (and not in a good way) as she belted the notes to _Hairspray_'s _Without Love_, the song she'd been most excited to perform.

"But we won, babe," he says.

"But the judges were cruel, _Finn_," she tells him as they walk toward the elevator.

"But we did it," he turns his head to her and kisses her – he just kisses her because, well, he can.

"Here's to New York," she smiles.

He nods, "To New York. And Gretl and Liesl."

She gives him a quick kiss on the lips because she knows he'll never let that one go – ever.

"Hey Finn," Puck steps out of the elevator just as they're walking in, Santana's hand in his. "'Sup Rachel? You two headed somewhere?"

"My room," Finn tells Puck as he just raises his brow and nudges Finn on the elbow. He's pretty sure that's code for like, getting some.

"Have fun, kids," Puck teases. "San and I are gonna head down to get something to eat, so we'll see you whenever."

"See you whenever," Rachel answers, grabbing Finn's hand and tugging him into the elevator just before it closes.

"Did you see that?" Finn turns to her and manages to get the words out just before she can; he knows she's going to ask the same thing, too.

"They're happy," she says. "It's refreshing."

"We're happy too," he grabs her fingers and loops his through them.

"Yeah," she tells him. "We're happy, too."

**... ... ...**

Graduation day isn't supposed to be sad, right? Finn swears to himself he'll get out of there before he has the chance to witness any tears because, well, who wants to be surrounded by like, a million crying people when all you should be excited for is getting the hell out of high school, right?

Wrong.

He feels himself cry right as they call up the 'B's'. Rachel Berry flutters to the back of the line of people waiting to get their diplomas, the blue and gold gown draping over her body. She does a little wave to Finn because he's in one of the front rows – the 'H' section – and he nods and blows a kiss back to her. Once she turns around, he turns to that random guy with the awful imitation of Puck's mohawk and just says, "That was my girlfriend." Not that the random guy with the awful imitation of Puck's mohawk cares – really, he doesn't – but he's just so damn proud and she's just there and all _his_ and he's just got to share.

"Cool, dude," is all the random guy with the awful imitation of Puck's mohawk manages to say.

"She is cool," Finn answers.

So the ceremony's over in like, two hours, and he's seen about enough people cry that he swears he's in a war zone. He's gotta get out, really, so he makes a plan to find Rachel as quick as he can in the mess of people scattered across the football field, take a few pictures or whatever, and totally get out.

"Finn!" It's not Rachel, but Santana, and sure, any other day he'd be kind of happy to talk to Santana, but not now – definitely not now. "Congratulations." She holds out her arms to give him a hug so he's got to hug her back.

"You see Rachel anywhere?" He asks her.

"Nope," she presses her lips together and scans the field once or twice before shaking her head. "But once you find her, bring her over to me and Puck."

"Why?" He's confused and cluttered and he's pretty sure he's claustrophobic because he's heard his mom claim herself it once or twice during her Black Friday shopping, and he totally feels the same way.

"I was thinking about plans for later," she says. "Just the four of us."

"Cool," he says and manages to smile, even though the only plans he thinks of are the ones he's made with Rachel – sex, sex and more sex, because they _totally_ haven't done that in like, God knows how long.

"Santana!" Rachel skips over to Santana, enveloping her in a huge hug that makes Finn kind of jealous because, well, he could use a huge hug right now too – he totally just graduated high school; he thinks that's pretty deserving.

"Don't forget about later, Berry," Santana doesn't even have to specify and Rachel nods her head 'yes' about three times.

"I won't!" She tells her just before Santana runs off, probably to find Brittany or Puck or her parents or someone.

"Hi," Rachel turns to Finn, which makes him kind of happy because for a second there, he was pretty sure she completely forgot of his existence. "So, we're graduates."

"That we are," he says, his hands in his pocket as he huffs a little.

"I'm happy," she tells him. "Like, _really_ happy."

"I know you are," he breathes. "Don't look back from here, okay?"

"What – w'do'u mean?"

"Do I have to say it?" He asks.

"No," Rachel looks down at the ground, scraping the heel of her ballet flat in the grass. "I promise – from now on it'll just get better, okay?"

"Cool," he says. "I'm looking forward to every minute of it."

**... ... ...**

It's midnight the time they actually all meet up – Finn, Puck, Rachel, Santana all together.

They're sprawled out across the Berry's lawn, and Rachel tells them that if they ignore the feeling of the mosquitoes eating at their legs, they could make the night a little fun.

"Julliard, huh?" Puck asks her as he cracks open one more beer. "Pretty sweet accomplishment if you ask me."

"Why thank you, Noah," Rachel lies across a sheet she spreads across the grass. "It's truly an honor to know I'll be attending one of the greatest schools for theatrical studies of all time, really."

"Must be," he says. "Must be pretty awesome draggin' along this one with you." He points to Finn, who's sitting with his legs folded just beside Rachel's sheet.

"I wanted to go," Finn chimes in. "New York'll be awesome."

"So will paying for rent and all of that good shit," Puck says sarcastically. "But really, I am happy for you two."

"Me too," Santana adds. "Like I said, I better get an invite to that wedding; I don't care which one of you it's from, but I better be getting one."

"We haven't actually planned our wedding," Rachel tells her. "Just our children – Gretl and Liesl who'll be named in honor of only the greatest family of all musical history."

"You gonna have cats, too?" Puck snickers.

"Two." Finn adds, smiling into his beer bottle.

"I've gotta say," Santana says. "We've come a long way since junior year."

"Who would've thought we'd all be sittin' on Berry's front lawn sharing beers and actually like, talking?" Puck adds.

"Not me," Rachel says.

"Me either," Finn says in between sips.

They all sit for a moment – Santana seated in between Puck's legs and Rachel's hand tapping on Finn's knee as he sits beside her. They're not sure it was meant to be like this – Finn and Rachel, Puck and Santana – but they're not so sure that they changed destiny either. Perhaps letting things settle – letting things fall into place – worked.

"You excited for OSU, you two?" Finn asks after a moment of silence, only the chirps of the crickets that totally like, creep him out able to be heard.

"Not goin'," Puck tells him as Rachel's jaw practically falls in shock.

"The fuck?" Finn asks. "Why wouldn't you go? You had a plan, asshole."

"Wasn't my original plan," Puck tells him. "San's gonna go to OSU, kick some ass, all of that good shit. I'm gonna study a little more and just go to community for a year or two; figure out what I wanna do with my life before I rush into things."

"We'll still see each other," Santana's talking more towards Puck than she is explaining to a confused Finn and Rachel. "I mean, I'll still be in Ohio so we'll – we'll make time."

"Mm," Puck kisses the top of her hair before she squirms out of his lap and onto the lawn to fetch another beer.

"Who would've thought?" Puck whispers to Finn when he's sure Rachel and Santana are too wrapped up in their own conversation about these really good wine coolers Santana's tried and the Von Trapp's, who are only Rachel's idols (after the one and only extraordinary Barbra Streisand, of course.)

"W'do'u mean, dude?"

"We came pretty far," Puck nods proudly. "We've got girlfriends, college ahead of us, you're going to New York. I mean, it didn't turn out so bad after all, right?"

"Dude," Finn chuckles, clinking his bottle to Puck's. "This is only the beginning."

It's the beginning alright, and they're in for one hell of a ride.

**... ... ...**

**fin.**

a/n: Well, that's all! I hope it wasn't too disappointing. Feedback is most definitely welcomed! I hope you'll continue to read other works of writing I'll most likely establish in the future, as well. :)


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